


World Is Mine

by Biscuit Lion (cookiethelion)



Series: Valet Service [8]
Category: British Comedian RPF
Genre: Chinese Zodiac, Crack, Dog(s), Dragons, Gen, Horses, hints of slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:30:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiethelion/pseuds/Biscuit%20Lion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For someone who couldn't speak, he was doing a very fine job of holding Milton hostage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	World Is Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Samurottsan  
> \----
> 
> 1\. [Valet Service](http://archiveofourown.org/works/326601)  
> 2\. [Do-It-Yourself](http://archiveofourown.org/works/329398/chapters/531504)  
> 3\. [Shadow Puppets](http://archiveofourown.org/works/332687/chapters/537393)  
> 4\. [Three Of A Kind](http://archiveofourown.org/works/347835/chapters/565322)  
> 5\. [Goats & Dogs (and a Dragon)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/367242/chapters/596962)  
> 6\. [One For The Enemy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/385254/chapters/630833)  
> 7\. [Leave In Summer...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/423707/chapters/708441)  
> 8\. [...Yet You're Here In My Fluffoughts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/456509/chapters/785402)  
> 9\. **World Is Mine**  
>  10\. [Hurting For A Very Hurtful Pain](http://archiveofourown.org/works/501077/chapters/879676)  
> \----
> 
> I have no idea why, but when I planned this one out, I kept matching The Boy to [World Is Mine](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EuJ6UR_pD5s) by Hatsune Miku (and here's a fantastic [English dub](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NPja8HBm_uE) by Miku-tan (I would link to the original video but it's been taken down =/))
> 
> On a side note, writing in The Boy is a lot harder than it seems, but I bloody love using his character. That said, I found [this interview](http://www.suchsmallportions.com/feature/chat-boy-tape-his-face) he gave last year... the fanfic question caught my eye in particular ;)
> 
> Anyway, it will be back to normal for the next installment - multiple chapters, slash pairings, higher age rating, Humphrey makes an appearance, etc.
> 
> Oh, and THE SERIES IS OVER 50000 WORDS!! This is definitely the longest fic I've written (in fact, I've got a feeling it might go over 100,000...)  
> \----
> 
> DISCLAIMER:  
> I own nothing except the plot and Zodiac Valet concept. This fanfiction was written purely for fun, and not for profit. Any persons written is not intended to represent the real person.

“Thanks for doing this, sweetheart.” Thom tried to hug Milton as they arrived at the forest, but the latter held him away at arm’s length.

“What did you promise me?”

“I know, I know. I repay your favour by keeping my distance from you.”

“…And?”

“We don’t tell Humphrey what happened in your room.”

“Including…?”

“I nearly kissed you?”

“Yes.” Milton shuddered as he tried to forget about that near-fatal incident. It had been about a week after Scorpio’s ambush, and now that Thom (and Miles) had recovered, he had gone to see Milton, asking him for a favour, albeit by cornering him in his own room and forcing him to say yes with their faces so close their foreheads were nearly touching.

A call and a (thankfully separate) journey later, they were now standing in the forest, waiting for The Boy to turn up. Thom was pacing about and fidgeting his fingers; Milton stood still but kept glancing around for his member. He knew The Boy had got his message, but he had never been _this_ late before, and unless there was a good excuse for it –

He could hear galloping from a distance, but the noise barely grew louder when both he and Thom were plummeted into artificial darkness. There was no surprise as to who could have done that, but the swiftness of the move caught him out; Thom was crying for him, and Milton was about to reach for him when the galloping grew louder, and someone grabbed the front of his shirt, forcefully yanking him onto the back of a horse.

“Put me down-” he said, but to no avail. Seconds later, he emerged blinking into the sunlight, and as he rubbed his eyes, trying to adjust to the change, it dawned on him that he was now in a much quieter part of the forest. When he opened his eyes again, he stopped moving – or rather, The Boy did. He glanced over his shoulder, and tilted his head to the side.

Milton didn’t trust him as he got off his back, and he was right to do so; no sooner had he touched the ground did he feel something chafe against his wrist. When he looked down, he was horrified to discover The Boy had, in the process of kidnapping him, managed to handcuff their left wrists together; so that’s why he was keeping so calm.

“Release me now.” The Boy just stared at him with narrow eyes. “As your leader, I order you to release me now.”

When neither party were willing to move, Milton gave up with that tact, and said, “Take me back to Tuck right now.” The Boy shook his head. “I command you –” He flinched backwards as something narrowly missed scraping his nose; it was only then he released that, in The Boy’s right hand, he was holding onto a nunchuck made from two plungers threaded together by a piece of rope.

In the silence that followed, Milton wondered whether he should rip off the tape and force The Boy to speak; it wasn’t an implausible idea, especially as they were now handcuffed together. The more thought about it, he realised he hadn’t heard The Boy talk or indeed seen him without tape for more than a decade; if he remembered correctly, an incident had happened in the same year he became leader, and without telling anybody the details, he had started covering his mouth with tape, and it remained that way ever since.

Something must have tweaked, because The Boy flipped his bag open and put the plungers away. Milton was expecting him to pull something else out, but he did nothing, and returned to glaring at his leader.

“Stop looking at me like that. What do you want me to do?”

The Boy tilted his head backwards, and Milton climbed on his back again; once he was settled, he started to trot ahead, though with no indication where they were going, or if he even had any idea where they could go. As far as Milton was aware, as long as they didn’t run into Thom, it didn’t matter where he was being lead.

“You don’t want to see Tuck … you weren’t late for my call at all…” The Boy shook his head. “He wouldn’t say why he wanted to see you. Why…?”

The Boy halted and turned to look over his shoulder at Milton as far as he could; when the latter kept silent for long enough, he started moving again.

“Has something happened between you two?”

When that got nothing, Milton gave up asking; The Boy clearly wasn’t going to respond, not unless he could come up with something that would force him into doing so. As Milton glanced around, it struck him that, on the day Tom and Ben had their argument, he had seen The Boy running from Thom … and he was certain the latter had asked him for a favour … was this it?

“Running away from Tuck isn’t going to work. This place is too small.”

He wished he hadn’t said that; in response, The Boy dashed ahead and plummeted them into darkness again, emerging moments later in a different part of the forest; when he halted, he glanced over his shoulder and lifted his eyebrows twice.

“Don’t do that again.” The Boy shrugged and started walking again. “OK, we’ll avoid Tuck like you want to. Can you let me go now?”

The Boy stopped, and Milton got off him, expecting to be freed. Instead, he shook his head and raised three fingers in front of him; at first, Milton didn’t understand, but then he got his message.

“You have _demands_?” The Boy nodded, and Milton’s chest swelled. “This is getting ridiculous. Fine, I’ll take your demands, but first you have to let me go.” The Boy just stared, and although Milton tried to out-do him, he couldn’t keep it up, and minutes later, he flinched away, though not too far as his wrist tugged the handcuff.

“What do you want?”

The Boy raised a finger, and then pointed over his shoulder, at his lower half; Milton thought he knew what he meant, and as he got onto his back again, the lack of objection seemed to confirm his suspicions.

“You want me to ride you?”

In response, The Boy raised two fingers, and Milton took it as a yes. The former opened his bag again, and flipped through until he found a staple gun; he inspected it, shook it, and then pointed the mouth ahead, before he pressed the trigger. Nothing seemed to happen, until there was a faint thud that sounded similar to a bullet hitting a tree; it seemed to be what The Boy was looking for, as he handed it behind his back to Milton, who took it, albeit with some caution.

The Boy reached into his bag again, and pulled out the plungers once more; he gave it a spin, and, satisfied that it was still holding well, closed his bag and stared over his shoulder.

“You … want me to … defend you?”

The Boy raised three fingers, and then pointed ahead; Milton frowned, wondering what was so interesting, but then yelped and wrapped his arm around The Boy as he started to gallop, once again throwing them into pure darkness and emerging somewhere else _again_.

“Stop doing that –” The Boy shrugged and nudged him, and he let go. “Sorry. Please don’t tell me your third demand was _that_.” When The Boy just walked forward, Milton felt like giving in; playing along was going to get him out of those handcuffs quicker than protesting, and anyway, the demands weren’t _that_ bad, it was just the last one he objected to.

“Sweetheart –” The familiar voice was still a distance away, but it was difficult to pin where it was coming from, particularly as The Boy started at that moment. “Sweetheart –”

“Stop – don’t –” The Boy had charged again, but this time, Milton wasn’t having it; he pressed down on his shoulder, swung his leg over and threw himself off. He didn’t want to use his powers to catch his fall, in case he ended up levitating, but as the side of his body scraped the ground, he really wished he had.

The Boy stopped as he threw Milton startled looks, and tried to bend down to help him up, except his half-animal form was preventing him from doing so. As for Milton, in between his winces (from being dragged on the ground, and also from the handcuffs chafing his wrist) and checks that he wasn’t bleeding, he wasn’t going to get up any time soon. As long as he stayed on the ground, The Boy couldn’t move, and they would have no choice but to wait for Thom to find them.

Not that his plan went unnoticed; The Boy was nudging him with his nearest leg, and throwing glances over his shoulder before looking at Milton again and back, as if he could convince him to move, even though between the both of them, they knew he would never give in. Milton remained lying down, though he wished Thom would hurry up and find them, not in the least because his handcuffed arm was starting to feel numb; they hadn’t moved that far ahead, and Thom had been close to them anyway, it couldn’t take him that much longer to find him…

The Boy was kicking him at more rapid intervals, but Milton stood his ground, even if the cost was going to be a bruise on his ribcage. Soon enough, Thom stumbled into view, at first looking relieved, before it was replaced with a very confused look. Milton didn’t even know how to explain to him what had happened, but at that moment, The Boy shifted so that he was standing behind him, and thus able to stare at Thom directly. He was twirling the plungers in his hand, his eyes narrowing with each rotation.

“What…?” said Thom, staring at Milton instead before he shifted to The Boy.

“Don’t ask,” said Milton.

“OK … anyway, you have something of mine. I want it back.” Thom held out his arm, but The Boy took several steps back, careful not to drag Milton with him.

Milton tugged at the handcuffs, forcing The Boy forward again. He persisted in looking at Thom though, and he elbowed his bag further behind his back.

“I said – give it back –” Thom’s walk forward turned into a lunge, and The Boy was forced to drag Milton back, else the other leader would have landed squarely on top of him. Not that Milton minded; he had already made more than sufficient bodily contact with Thom that morning, he didn’t need another reminder.

Thom landed on his front, and as he spat out dust and shook his head, The Boy looked down at Milton, now with rather wide eyes, and kept raising his eyebrows at the gun while tilting his head at Thom. Milton stared back at him, at first confused, but then it dawned on him, and he threw the gun aside.

“I’m not using it on Tuck,” he said. The Boy kicked it back in his hand, shook his head, and then raised the plungers so that he was pointing at Thom. “…You want me to _give_ it to Tuck?”

“What does that do?” said Thom as Milton slid it across to him. He picked it up and twirled it around.

“I’m not sure.”

Thom shrugged and, after pointing it to his left, fired; like before, nothing appeared to happen, until it sounded like a bullet had slammed into a tree. He stared for a while at where the target roughly was, and then turned back to The Boy.

“…You’re giving me this?” he said, still stunned that he had just been handed something powerful.

The Boy nodded, and at that time stopped spinning his plungers. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the key, before unlocking his handcuff first; now that they were no longer bound to each other, Milton sighed in relief as he dropped his sore arm, and, when he caught the key, released his wrist at last. His skin was red from the chafing, and that seemed to be the worst of it.

He had barely sat up when The Boy stepped over him, his plungers back in rotation. He stopped not that far in front of Milton, his eyes narrow and staring straight into Thom’s; the latter had his thumb on the trigger, but he had the mouth pointed down at the ground and, unlike The Boy, his palms were glowing.

Milton didn’t know what he would do if a fight really did break out; he knew The Boy had more items in his bag than it seemed, and he could pull out anything to counter the gun Thom was armed with. As a measure, Milton turned his hands over, exposing his glowing palms; he was certain he had the abilities to overrule The Boy’s powers, and possibly even Thom’s, if past experience was anything to draw upon. What mattered now was that nobody would end up seriously hurt.

The Boy stomped the ground with his rear legs, and Thom’s grip on the gun tightened. They stared for a while longer; Thom was reluctant to move, and The Boy just continued to swing his plungers – until he opened his bag and stowed them away. Thom stumbled back, thinking along the same lines as Milton, it seemed; what if The Boy was about to pull out something else?

Instead, The Boy shut his bag and raised his left fist to head height, and held it there. Thom squinted at Milton, who was looking back at him with the same level of confusion; after a pause, The Boy started to rock his arm back and forth, and it took Thom a while later to drop the gun and copy him.

The Boy nodded, rocking his arm with even more fervour, until both of them were in sync; at that point, The Boy nodded once, twice, thrice – and they dropped their arms at the same time, Thom pointing scissors, The Boy paper. Milton relaxed, relieved that the whole argument now rested on a Rock, Paper, Scissors tournament, and the glow on his palms died out.

The Boy raised three fingers, and Thom complied as they went again – second time Thom rock, The Boy paper – third time Thom paper, The Boy rock. Not giving in, The Boy raised five fingers – fourth time Thom rock, The Boy scissors – fifth time paper, The Boy rock.

The Boy rolled his eyes as he reached into his bag again; Milton once again braced himself in case he was about to pull out something unexpected, and even Thom seemed to be wary. The Boy stopped and turned his head to stare at the two of them, frowning, before shrugged his shoulders as he pulled out a belt. Milton relaxed again, but Thom, on the moment he saw the belt, pounced and nearly tackled The Boy to the ground in his desperation to take it back.

“…If you tell me that was what you were after…” said Milton as he eyed Thom getting up. He had been expecting something more significant than a belt, particularly given how much time and effort he had gone through to force The Boy to confront him.

“He took it from me,” said Thom, throwing The Boy a glare as he spoke.

On the contrary, The Boy seemed unfazed as he found his balance again. He was already looking into his bag, and he started to trot to Milton, though he stopped fairly soon when he found what he was looking for. As he pulled out a snow globe, Milton’s first thought was that it was his Item; a second glance at the shape of the dome told him it wasn’t. This one was flatter, and the inside was, it seemed, empty, though that may have been due to the cloudiness of the interior.

It wasn’t until Milton took it that what he had assumed were clouds turned out to be shadows; he wanted to shake it, but The Boy grabbed him on the wrist and stopped him. He clasped his other hand over the dome, and then let go completely; without giving another glance at Thom, he nodded to Milton and then galloped away.

Both leaders watched him disappear; Thom was more than glad to see him go, and Milton wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. He was more distracted by the belt than snow globe; this time, it looked like it really was just an ordinary object…

“We went to all this trouble for a belt?” he said.

“Thanks for the help, sweetheart –”

“Milton. Don’t grin at me like that, I should never have come here if I knew you were after _that_ –”

“Alright, sweetheart, it’s not like this matters to you, does it?” Pause. “If you must know … Miles gave it to me.”

Silence. Milton turned back to the snow globe on his hands, and twirled it round, inspecting every angle of it. There seemed to be nothing inside but shadows that dangled on a set spot, even when he flipped it back upright. He wasn’t surprised at its oddity; knowing The Boy, this had to be anything but a globe … but why did he stop him from shaking it? Even now, Milton didn’t dare move it too vigorously in case something awful happened.

He was so bemused by it, he didn’t pay attention to what Thom was saying or doing – until he put an arm around his waist and kissed him on the cheek. Milton didn’t have time to retaliate; Thom pulled away faster than he knew, and with a final wave, started to run off in the opposite direction to The Boy.

Milton didn’t watch him; instead, no sooner had he left than did he turn his attention back to the snow globe. He didn’t know what else he could gleam out of it, and after a while, he left for the flat, though his mind was elsewhere.

He wished The Boy had left some sort of clue as to what he was supposed to do with the globe. If anything, he didn’t want to find out its true purpose at the worst possible time.


End file.
